Actually, this one really is kinda good. If surgery can be good. The powers-that-be have suggested that I consider a hysterectomy, since I am having such dire problems with anemia. My gyno (aptly named Doctor Finger -- no kidding -- I do not kid when referring to gynos) (thank God she's a chick) is a rock-star, but she just didn't feel comfortable messing around amidst my reconfigured innards, so she referred me to a dude who's a gyn-oncologist. No, I don't have cancer. But he's especially good at dealing with weird cases like mine. And when I consulted with him, he thinks he can work around my innards and still use the uber-kewl robotic laser-guided space modulator thingy to do the deed.
And if he gets in there and sees that there's more of a problem than he first suspected, he can still open me up the old-timey way if he has to. I hope not. But it's good to know that he can deal with it if he does.
It's all going down in March. They were all set to do it THIS WEEK, but I said Whoa, y'all, hold up, I can't take any more days off work. Can y'all pencil me in for, oh, say, Spring Break? That way I get a few days to lie around and chill and stuff. And they said OMG like duh, of course. So we're all set for Monday, March 14th.
They're also going to take out the egg factories along with the nest. Yeah, that means that the dreaded HOTFLASH will be all up in my grill 'n stuff. It was a matter of weighing the options... I have a slightly more elevated cancer risk than the normal person, thanks to genetics and a previous history of polycystic ovary syndrome, and if they DID turn cancerous, it might not show up until it's too late because they're just floating around in there unhooked... plus, I really only have a few more years of hormones at best... so it was kind-of a toss-up, and I just said take 'em out. I'll probably wish I hadn't, because I'll probably spend April and May in an insomniac rage, drenched in sweat and plotting the slow and painful demise of my husband.
Not that that's anything unusual, mind you.